Morning
by whitesakura
Summary: Over a cold plate of eggs, a distance between two brothers is crossed and something else infinitely greater reaffirmed.


Notes: Written to "Everlasting Snow" by Dream, Arjuna ending songs and various other bits of anime-based music.

Morning

It was early morning and pale sunlight flooded into the Kaiba mansion's second kitchen. It was a small room, almost old-fashioned with blue-glazed tiles on the walls, a wooden countertop, and a porcelain sink with a long curvy faucet and knobbed handles. The sink, board, mostly empty refrigerator and cabinets took up about a third of the rectangular room, wrapping across two walls. There was only one entrance and one archway window that was squat and fat. Mokuba peered in through a crack at the door and smiled when he found his brother sitting at the lone small table. The elder Kaiba had positioned his chair to make the most of the early wan luminescence and the sun shone fluidly on his reclined body, probing for the shadows underneath Seto's ubiquitous blue trench coat with gentle fingers. The duelist's face was lax and at peace, his eyes closed. Seto's hands barely gripped the business section of the news daily that threatened to slip away the last few centimeters onto the furniture's faintly scratchy surface. Mokuba tried to tiptoe from the portal in order to retreat, but the un-oiled hinges of the door released a groaning creak, the papers fluttered down with feathery wings, and his brother's eyes slid open.

"Mokuba," the CEO murmured, blinking the fatigue/sleep? from his eyes. His lips seemed to loosen, but then Kaiba's throat constricted oddly and any further incrimination of a yawn refused to manifest itself.

"Hi, Nii-sama," Mokuba said shyly, changing his mind and making his way into the room.

"What are you doing up? It's not even seven yet," Seto said blearily. The older sibling took a sip from the stained mug by his right hand and grimaced. The coffee was dark and bitter like always, but he preferred it that way. What annoyed him was the chill it had obtained from being left on the counter for too long.

"Actually, its seven-thirty," Mokuba piped up helpfully, glancing at the figure-hand clock's black and white face above the sink as he walked by it. The youngster made his way to the other chair to sit on it with his knees tucked under him and with his elbows splayed on top of the table. The boy poked at the single dish with a rose-pattern around its rim. "By the way, your eggs are cold."

Seto grunted in acknowledgment and not quite disappointment. He nursed his cup in his right hand through a few of the clock's tick-tocks, wondering if some of his body heat could magically re-warm the cold beverage. He took a sip and frowned, but he kept drinking until the whole vessel was drained of its caffeine treasure load. The mug came down with a quiet clink and Seto smirked when he noticed Mokuba's continued prods at his uneaten breakfast. "You must be starving if you're genuinely considering my leftovers."

"Eh, well I haven't eaten yet," Mokuba said sheepishly. He continued with a concerned expression, "You haven't eaten yet either. Did you eat dinner last night? I waited until midnight, but you didn't come home by then."

"Mokuba, your bedtime is ten," Seto stated firmly, avoiding the question.

"I know, I know," Mokuba waved off the harmless threat.

Seto's eyes began to narrow before he allowed the inchoate expression to suddenly drop with a sigh. "Pre-teens and their need for rebellion," he snorted.

"I'll sleep earlier if you will," Mokuba offered.

Seto laughed a short barking laugh that still sounded faintly condescending. It was the best laugh Seto could manage; Mokuba knew he was trying.

"I'm serious," Mokuba said worriedly, noticing the beginnings of bags under his Nii-sama's eyes. Seto was still for a moment, a blue-eyes white dragon statue basking in the morning glow. He moved suddenly, scales rippling, coming alive to caress Mokuba's hair briefly.

"I know," Seto said softly. The fingers slid away, but Kaiba's sincerity, his warmth, his caring in that gesture remained indelible, lodged somewhere comfortably in Mokuba's chest. Mokuba glanced fleetingly at that feeling for a moment before he shut it in the vault with the few others he had managed to steal.

Seto rose, "Let's get you some breakfast in the main kitchen."

The beginnings of Mokuba's agreement died as soon as they were born and the child paused in mid-descent from his chair. He thought of the endless hall of stainless steel and cold white tiles. He thought about the chefs that would greet him, bid him to sit and watch them flambé a new delicacy while Seto would inevitably pick up one of the cordless phones, strung across the length of the room, that would ring the moment he got there. After a few moments the CEO would leave, angry and frustrated as a servant met him on his way out with a cell phone and suitcase. The limo driver would pull up to the front porch and shortly after, pull away. Mokuba would have his sugar-sweet breakfast, but Seto would be gone.

"No, Nii-sama. Let's just eat here," he tugged at a sleeve, suddenly feeling very afraid and very young. The vision ended abruptly, but a foul aftertaste lingered somewhere deep in Mokuba like an old stain. Seto stared at his younger brother for a moment, then sat back down without a word. In the old servants' kitchen, euphemistically refereed to as the "second kitchen", they began to talk, haltingly at first, but with growing surety and ease. Seto had barely anything to discuss but business, so when his alto tones began to quiet, Mokuba filled the silence with the soprano stirrings of school gossip and laughter. Seto chuckled a little, teased gingerly back a little. Mokuba knew his brother was trying and for once he had the luxury of slowly imprinting every attempt into his heart. The two talked for many hours until the sun was sultry and high in the sky, and the birds that twittered their morning greetings had left long ago to forage. They talked and talked until the shared plate of cold eggs was empty, until old wounds were soothed if not healed, and they talked for the many hours, and the many years, after…

Owari.


End file.
